Lately, I've been drawn to thinking about the homes I remember growing up. The homes where there were old photographs tucked into frames. Where the furniture didn't all come from the same place and something was probably sitting on the kitchen counter that didn't belong there. Art on the walls, patterned filled chairs and cozy blankets.

Slightly imperfect, but somehow they felt alive. I love looking at beautiful homes. Give me a cozy kitchen, patterned wallpaper, an old wooden table and a lamp glowing in the corner and I will happily stare at all the details far longer than necessary.

But somewhere in the age of Pinterest and Instagram, I think many of us started believing that making a home beautiful meant taking things away.

Clear the counters. Hide the toys. Put the kid's artwork somewhere less visible. Make the bookshelves more styled (or turn them around backwards so they all look like one cohesive color – i’m guilty of this too). Keep the colors coordinated and don't let too many patterns compete. Put away the things that make a room feel cluttered.

And of course, sometimes I desperately want a clean counter too. But I wonder if in trying to make our homes look more beautiful, we've accidentally started removing some of the things that make them feel like us.

Because the homes I remember most never felt empty or even like they were perfectly clean and put together. They were full of life, personality, and (my favorite) creativity.

(entry way from the movie Step Mom)

I think a home immediately tells you something about the people who live there. I love walking into a home and instantly learning something about someone. There are cookbooks with bent pages because home cooked meals are made from them weekly. A stack of novels or journals next to someone's favorite chair. A bowl filled with rocks and shells brought home from family trips. Paintings collected slowly over the years from places they loved. A piece of furniture that belonged to someone in the family. Children's drawings mixed in with framed artwork. A strange little object on a shelf that makes absolutely no sense until someone tells you the story behind it.

These things aren't just decoration, they're evidence.

Someone lives here. Someone loves things here. Someone has a story here.

And I think that's part of what makes a home feel so good to walk into. Without even knowing it sometimes, you’re not just seeing a room, you see the people.

I started looking back and all the pictures and pins and books of homes I’ve collected and have loved. Sometimes I save it within a split second and it wasn’t until I looked at all of them at once that I realized something…

The homes I'm most drawn to rarely look like they were decorated all at once. They feel as though they've been becoming themselves for years with old collected things sitting next to new things.

Florals with stripes and books stacked underneath lamps. Art tucked into unexpected places. Wallpaper behind shelves filled with objects collected over time. Frames that don't perfectly match. A bookshelf filled to the brim with collections and puzzles and pictures someone loved.

Maybe that's why over the past few years i’ve been loving patterns and making them so much more.

Pattern immediately brings a little life and creativity with it. A floral wallpaper can make a room feel like it has been there longer than it has. A stripe can sit happily beside a painting and an old wooden dresser and somehow make everything feel more interesting and cozy. The same is true of art.

Art doesn't have to perfectly match the sofa– in fact, maybe it's better when it doesn't.

Maybe you chose it because the colors made you happy. Because it reminded you of somewhere you've been or because you couldn't stop thinking about it or because your child loved it too. The things we bring into our homes don't always need to coordinate. Sometimes they just need to mean something to us.

And when enough of those things gather together, something wonderful happens. The house starts to not only look, but feel like the people living in it and the rhythm of life that is happening there.

(signs of life and creativity happening in our kids backyard playhouse)

There are seasons of life when it can feel like children's things are absolutely everywhere. The papers, drawings, half-finished craft projects, tiny collections, books, or the toys you're definitely going to put away tonight.

And I'm not suggesting we preserve every scrap of paper that enters our homes. With seven kids, we could fill our house to the brim in papers if we let it. But I also don't want childhood to be completely tucked away. I love a home where you can tell children live there too.

So hang their artwork and their little notes. Let them choose something for their room that you never would have chosen yourself. Keep the funny little thing they made sitting on the shelf for a while. Give their books and collections and creations a place among the things you consider beautiful.

Because their lives are part of the story of the house too.

Collect instead of complete

Maybe this is the biggest shift I've been feeling in my own home lately– I don't want to finish my house.  I want to collect it and evolve it over time just like we are evolving as a family. And I've found that there's so much freedom in letting a home become itself over time instead of trying to complete it.

Because a memorable home isn't something you finish. It's something you live into.

The layers come from living. The stories come from living. The scratches on the table and the books with bent pages and the artwork you've looked at for fifteen years come from living.

Make your home look a little more like you

So maybe creating a beautiful home doesn't always mean asking what needs to be changed. Maybe sometimes it's noticing what deserves to stay.

The things that might not make your home look more perfect, but might make it more yours. And I think that's far more interesting.

I'm becoming more and more convinced that the homes worth remembering aren't the ones where everything went together.

They're the ones where everything had a story. Where art and pattern and books and old things and children's things all existed together because they belonged to the people who lived there. A little collected, a little imperfect and full of personality, full of creativity and full of life. The kind of home you can feel before you can even explain why.

Maybe you’re wondering “yes I want this feeling, but how do I create this for our home?”

Here’s a simple way to start: Look around your home today and notice the things you would miss if they weren't there. The things with part of your story. Maybe ask your kids which things in your home they might remember most someday. The corners that already feel unmistakably like your family.

And then, instead of asking how to make your home more perfect, ask:

What could I add that would make this place feel even more like us?

Maybe it's finally hanging the art you've had sitting in a closet. Bringing home the old lamp you can't stop thinking about. Putting the children's paintings in real frames. Choosing the wallpaper that's a little bolder than you normally would but would bring life and creativity to your whole room.

Or finding a piece of art simply because something about it feels like it belongs in your story.

That's how I hope you choose the things you bring into your home—not because they're the right thing to have, but because they make you feel something that’s only for you.

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